


Definitely Not Jealous

by lammermoorian



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, Hair Kink, Light BDSM, M/M, Multi, Swordplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:34:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26757352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lammermoorian/pseuds/lammermoorian
Summary: Luke is not jealous. No sir. Not him. Jealous? Perish the thought.Okay, fine, he's jealous. He wants in. And he has the perfect plan to get it.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Luke Castellan/Annabeth Chase, Luke Castellan/Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Luke Castellan/Percy Jackson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 79





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just fyi, Luke has miraculously returned from the grave at age 22, but is now younger than Percy and Annabeth, who are about 26
> 
> CW: hair cutting (all parties do consent to it)

They hadn’t planned on doing a scene tonight. It had been a long, exhausting week, and the three of them had looked at each other and collectively decided, not this weekend. Maybe next time. Tonight was supposed to have been a night of cheesy movies and gourmet popcorn. Luke had gotten Percy a dedicated popcorn popper for his birthday this past August, and it had entirely paid for itself within the first week. He loved that thing, loved the attachments and the ease of clean up, and he rimmed Luke to orgasm four consecutive times in thanks, while Annabeth watched approvingly from her perch on Percy’s dick, lazily making out with Luke above him, so it definitely ranked up there as one of the best gifts Percy had ever gotten. Which was kind of sad, if Luke thought about it for too long. The popper was under $60, and Percy lost his mind over it. Annabeth had looked at Luke with so much love and fondness, so proud of the progress he’d made and how far he’d come. He used to not be able to look either of them in the eye, and now he was a contributing member of their household. He’d even actually bought the damn thing, not just stolen it from the store. Well, he’d stolen the cash to pay for it, but the Wall Street guy had had it coming. Served him right for groping people in the subway.

Anyway, it was weird. Not bad. Just weird. 

And now they were all cuddled up on their living room couch, watching some D-list horror movie and making fun of the bad special effects. And the bad acting. And the bad writing. And the whole thing, really. Some nights, they made a game out of it; take a shot for nudity, for Nazis, for gratuitous gore. This movie certainly had all of those in spades, he thought, watching with an odd sort of detachment as the two main characters had awkward, just a step above porn sex in the middle of the zombie Nazi fort they had just infiltrated. The girl’s tits bounced wildly, her fake sex noises so squeaky it was like she had swallowed a chew toy. Percy bent over, whispered something to Annabeth, whose head was nestled in his lap, and she snorted, smacking him on the thigh. 

Luke swallowed.

He wasn’t jealous. He had long since gotten over that. And he had long since come to accept that Percy and Annabeth would always be their own thing. They loved him, and he loved them, and he would forever be grateful for this chance to prove it, but it was plain to see that they were made for each other, Plato’s theory of soulmates laid out right in front of his eyes. They had their special bond, and he was grateful that they even deigned to extend it to him. There was nothing quite like being in the middle of their love, their soft touches and sweet words, gently pushing away the sticky darkness that still threatened to drown him. 

If he asked, he knew Annabeth would move over to him, no problem. She would have no issue with reorienting herself, placing her head in his lap instead. Percy would probably even follow her, laying his head on Luke’s shoulder, and eventually they’d fall asleep like that, using him for their pillow, the ultimate gesture of trust. It made him misty-eyed, sometimes, to think about. 

But he didn’t want to ask, tonight. He--he’d been thinking about this for a while, about their charity and their promises. The three of them, they all have their own dynamics; there are things Annabeth does with him that she’d never even consider doing with Percy, ways that Luke can be violent with Percy, someone who could go toe to toe with him that he’d never even dream of revealing to Annabeth. He wasn’t jealous of them, not at all, but even he couldn’t help feeling a little… something, deep in his gut, at the sight of them together, so perfect, so clearly in love. No matter how many times she assured him it wasn’t the case, some part of him would never forget the five years she had spent hanging on his every word, five years thrown out the window the minute some snot nosed brat had blundered his way into camp, clutching the horn of the Minotaur. 

And okay, he would never admit it, but the softcore porn was making him a little horny. 

“Percy.”

He hummed, passing over the popcorn bowl.

“I want to fight you.”

As one, they both froze, looked at each other, then looked at him. “Excuse me?”

“For Annabeth.”

That was a thing Percy did, occasionally. The two of them would take their partnership out into the mortal world, into a space of like minded individuals who better appreciated the things they liked to inflict on each other. Usually Annabeth was the domme, but they enjoyed switching things up far more than their mortal friends realized. Whenever he was in charge, and someone wanted the privilege of being with Annabeth, Percy would challenge them to a fight, a fight which they would inevitably lose, and then he would take his prize, in front of his audience. 

Apparently, according to Annabeth, this was all because of their parents’ rivalry, because some things were baked too deeply into their DNA to be overcome by things as simple as true love. Well, Luke didn’t know too much about that, but maybe there was something in his blood that drove him to challenge, to piss off, to make a fool of those more powerful than he. 

He could have just asked. But he didn’t want to ask. He wanted to win, and win at Percy and Annabeth’s game. And he was brave enough to try.

The change in Percy was slow, but smooth. He watched him transform, from slouched, slightly scruffy postgrad in boxers to something more… kingly, almost. His spine straightened, his shoulders falling back, and he raised his chin, his thick eyebrows drawing together. “You want to fight me for Annabeth?” Percy asked, his voice low in his chest, a thrill of warning like a golden thread through one of Annabeth’s tapestries.

He swallowed. In for a penny. “Yes. I challenge you.”

From Percy’s lap, Annabeth whined, her cheeks lightly pink. 

Percy looked him up and down, his lips parted, tongue darting out to lick them, and after a moment, he said. “I accept. But I should shower first.”

Luke frowned. “Shower?”

Then he grinned, a face full of trouble. “Oh yeah. You’ll want to get yourself squeaky clean for this. Trust me.”

***

Luke taught Percy how to fight. He taught Annabeth how to fight. He was the undisputed best swordsman at Camp Half Blood of the last three hundred years.

The look on Percy’s face almost made him want to shit himself. 

He was still wearing those stupid boxers, blue with a bright orange clownfish pattern, and a thin, black Aerosmith t-shirt. Luke was pretty sure he had a specific suit that only ever saw use during those special nights out. He’d seen him put it on, all clean lines and well-tailored wool, intoxicating and sexy as any piece of lingerie, though he didn’t put it on now.

Lucky Luke, he was about to get his ass whooped by a guy in fish boxers.

Annabeth, damp-haired and wrapped in a towel, sat on their big bed, her legs crossed and emergency ambrosia at the ready, just in case someone actually got hurt. Her chest was pink from the heat of the shower, and she rubbed her hands on her thighs, biting her lip in anticipation. “Luke,” she said, “come here a second.”

Percy shot her a quizzical look. Luke, somewhat perturbed, stepped over to her.

Taking his hand, she threw Percy a smirk, before she pulled Luke in for a kiss, long and dirty, just the way he liked it. “For luck,” she murmured against his lips, then gently shoved him back into the middle of the room.

Now he saw why Annabeth had insisted on a giant master bedroom. 

Percy scowled, swinging his sword. Luke swallowed. 

“Best of three,” said Annabeth, breathy. “Begin.”

It barely lasted two rounds. 

By the gods, Luke was out of practice. 

Percy stood over him, his sword leveled at Luke’s chest, his infuriating troublemaker smile firmly in place. “Thought you were supposed to be the master swordsman, old man.”

He could hear Annabeth already shifting back and forth on the bedspread, the soft scrape of fabric over her bare skin. “So,” he said. “What happens now?”

“Now,” Percy drawled, “you get to watch.”

Annabeth was given the honor of tying him up. Her eyes were nearly black, pupils blown wide as she tied his hands to the chair, a blue rope she had woven just for this purpose, and he tried not to focus on the rise and fall of her bare chest as she breathed. “Not too tight?” she asked. He shook his head.

“Tighter,” ordered Percy from the bed, and she complied. 

“Sorry,” Luke said. 

“What for?”

“I lost.”

She grinned, kissing him on the cheek. “You’ll get him next time.” A shiver crawls down his spine, a whine escaping his mouth at the thought. 

“Annabeth,” crooned Percy. He’d gotten rid of the shirt at one point, proudly displaying his infuriatingly attractive Greek god chest, and predictably, she swooned at the sight. Ass. “Come here, princess.”

It was eerie, seeing him like this. He did the smarmy, condescending douchebag so well--frighteningly well. If Luke didn’t know that he was, in reality, the biggest sap he had ever met in his life, he would pick his pocket on principle. He supposed, though, that Percy was turning it up for the purposes of this scene, and damn it all, it was working. 

Percy had Annabeth in his hands, a thumb rolling at her nipple, her beautiful hair entangled in his fingers, swallowing her moans with his mouth. He watched as Percy bit her lip, pulling her forward, and she chased him with her tongue, nearly tripping over their limbs as she pressed herself even closer to him, breaking off to press kisses down the column of his throat. 

“Easy there, baby,” he said, gently pushing her down to the bed, her still damp hair splayed out beneath her, and he shimmied up her body, drawing a hand up her side. In his seat, Luke’s hips hitched up. He wanted to be that hand. He wanted to be that body. “First things first. Tell me, Luke,” and he wouldn’t even look at Luke as he spoke, staring (still lovingly, he noted with just a touch of humor) into Annabeth’s eyes. “What part of Annabeth is your favorite?”

What part? How in the hell could he choose just one? Her eyes, capable of slicing him to bits? Her hands, which pulled him out of the depths? Her lips, which poured grace into his skin and bones? Then he saw Percy fingering her hair, and knew what answer he was looking for. “Her hair,” he choked, mouth dry. 

“Hmm.” He gathered it in his hand, wrapping it around his fist, arching back her head. “You have good taste. And she has such beautiful hair. I always thought it made her look like a princess.” Reaching behind where Luke couldn’t see, he pulled out his sword, drawn and at the ready. She shuddered beneath him, her nipples hard and peaked, her fingers clawing at the bedspread. “Do you think she’ll still be one without it?”

_It’s a game_ , he had to remind himself. It was all a game. That didn't mean the sight of someone looming over his Annabeth, his little girl, with a deadly weapon in his hand didn’t make his heart race. He squirmed in his seat, his cock pressing uncomfortably against his underwear.

From the corner of his eye, Percy must have seen it, because his lips curled up in a smirk. “Worried, Luke? Worried she won’t be? Worried that once she loses all her hair, she’ll lose all her beauty, too?” And he brandished the sword, long and gleaming, the light from their lamps reflecting off it like firelight. “What do you think, princess? Should I cut it?”

“Yes, Percy, please,” she babbled, arching her back, trying to rub herself up against him. “Please cut my hair, please take my hair, you won me, so please--please, Percy--” He silenced her with a kiss, deep and biting, and Luke groaned, his head falling back. 

“Turn over,” he heard him say, and he looked just in time to see Annabeth scrambling to lie on her front, her hands above her head. Presenting herself, her ass, her back, her hair. Percy worked his way up her body, kissing at the black mark above her ass, biting at the bumps of her spine, mouthing at the knob on her neck as he humped her ass through those stupid clownfish boxers. Settling with his knees on either side of her ribcage, he gathered her hair in his left hand, pulling her head up. “Now hold still, baby. Don’t want to hurt you.” 

With his sword, he sliced through her hair, strands falling around her like leaves. With every cut, every quiet _shink_ of the blade, his hips jerked, he strained at his bonds, he sighed and moaned and groaned, and Percy’s damn smirk only grew wider and wider. Finally, he cut through the last of it, and as her head fell to the bed with a soft _thunk_ , he felt his cock dribble a little.

And of course, when Percy looked over, that was the first thing he saw, the wet stain on fabric. “Wow, Luke.” He bent down, brushing aside Annabeth’s newly shorn hair to whisper in her ear. “If I didn’t know how much you loved this, princess,” and she whined at his tone, at the feel of his lips on her ear, “I would say that Luke liked it more. Maybe that’s what gets him off.”

“No,” he choked out before he could stop himself. “No, that’s not--”

“It’s not?” He raised an eyebrow. “Looks to me like you’re the one who likes watching girls at sword point.” 

He blushed, shame and arousal filling his stomach equally. 

“But it’s not about what you like, is it? Let’s see how our princess is doing.” He leaned back, unceremoniously shoving a hand between her thighs, and she shrieks, muffled by the comforter. “Just as I thought. You’re so wet, baby, always so wet for me.” Still sitting on her, he lifted his hand to his mouth, fellating the taste of Annabeth from his fingers, then lifted his gaze to Luke, his eyes dancing, almost cruelly. “Bet you wish you could be me right now, huh. You want to be the one up here, cutting her hair, holding a knife to her throat. You want to be the one to make her feel like this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he moaned, brokenly, “yes, I want to make her feel so good.”

“You thought you could challenge me,” he chuckled, dark and low, “for the privilege of doing this.” Clambering off of her, he whipped off his boxers, throwing them somewhere left of Luke’s head, and for a second he stood in front of Luke in all his naked glory—and glorious it was. How this could be the same kid who’d once needed to dump a bottle of water over his head for a fight, Luke would never know. Now he was taller than Luke, with a body full of hard, well-defined muscles, and resting at the end of the perfect V of his chest was his hard cock. It was smaller than Luke’s by quite a bit, but Annabeth made no secret about preferring it. At the head was a ring of celestial bronze, adorned with a perfect pearl. Luke had to swallow to keep his mouth from watering too badly. Percy met his eyes, grinning, before sitting on the edge of the bed. “Me,” he scoffed, the sound distorted by the curve of his lips, “the son of Poseidon.”

Annabeth whined, curling into herself, her hand snaking down to the joint of her legs.

Those strong hands pull her on top of him, her legs splayed open on either side of him. Automatic, a practiced motion, her head fell back on his shoulder, her muscles bulging as she clutched at his arms, his thighs, his hair, any part of him she could reach. “Love this easy access,” he moaned, his hips jumping. “Love being able to do this,” and he sucked at the juncture of her neck, one brown, hairy arm banded across her small tits, squeezing her close. “You wish you knew how to please her, don’t you,” he murmured into her skin, tongue loving across the white bite mark, his free hand already circling her clit, spreading her folds, exposing her wetness to Luke and the world. “You wish you could be the one to make her scream, yeah? Like this.” Unceremoniously, he slipped a finger into her, crooking upwards, and she shrieked, curling forward. 

Pinned, helpless, Luke humped the air, his underwear growing stickier and stickier by the second. 

“You could have been--if you had won.” His sea-glass eye pinned him in place, bright and shining beneath his thick, arched brow. “If you had been able to defeat me. But you never could, could you? From the very first day you fought me at camp, you knew that I would always win, didn’t you?”

And he had. There had been raw talent, even at twelve, the kind of talent that Luke had had to shed blood, sweat, and tears for, just handed to Percy on a silver platter, like everything else in his life. Like his cabin, and his father’s love. Like Annabeth. 

“You were right, Luke. I won. See this?” Gently nudging her off of him for a moment, he turned her around, pulling her back down on his lap, then dragged a hand possessively down her spine, until his fingers reached the small of her back, where her tattoo lay, stark black against the pale of her skin in graceful calligraphy: _Property of Percy Jackson_. “This means I won, Luke. She’s mine. And because she’s mine, that means you have to look at it.” 

And he slipped inside. Annabeth, already a mess, came in his arms, her whole body shaking on top of him, and her cry sent Luke over the edge. 

Percy fucked her boneless body, the muscles of his arms bulging as he held her close. Through the ringing in his ears, he could still hear Percy’s stream of consciousness, directed at him and at her and at no one at all. “Maybe this will be it, Annabeth,” he muttered, his eyes closed. “I know how much you want a baby--maybe this will do it. Would you like that, princess? Would you like to have my baby? The strongest of your mother’s children, the hero of Olympus, founder of the Parthenos, a vessel for the legacy of Poseidon. How does that sound to you? Little girls and little boys with black hair and sea green eyes, as many as I can give you, as many as you can take,” and with every thrust, every honeyed word, she moaned brokenly, her voice hitching on each upward stroke. 

At last, he came. Panting wetly, Luke watched it slide out of her, down his still hard cock, onto his thighs and their bedspread. He laid her down on the bed, sliding out of her with a decidedly unsexy squelch, brushing the sweaty hair off of her forehead, and he kissed her cheek. 

Honestly, Luke figured Percy had forgotten about him, until Percy walked over to him, lifting his foot and placing it between Luke’s tied open legs, the tips of his toes tickling his sensitive cock through his underwear. “Don’t think I forgot about you,” he grinned, fisting his come-covered cock. “Clean me up.”

It wasn’t the perfect height. Luke had to lean forward, and Percy had to get in very close. His come practically stank of salt, but his hand in Luke’s hair was worth it, pulling on it just as he had pulled on hers, caressing his cheek with the same fondness. 

When he was done, he sighed, cupping Luke’s jaw. “You clean yourself up like I told you?”

Luke nodded. 

“Good. Let me get you two some water, and then the fun can really start.”


	2. Chapter 2

Percy took care of Annabeth first.

He stroked her sweaty, newly cut hair, pushing it away from her face, pressing a kiss to her forehead as they engaged in their little telepathy game, staring soulfully into each other’s eyes. Luke resisted the urge to tap his foot. Or gag. Or burst into tears, begging them to love him that much, too.

He wouldn’t let the kids see him cry. Some part of him, years later, still stubbornly clung to his authority as a camp counselor, as the adult in the room—never mind the fact that they were technically both older than him now.

Still, even though he didn’t want to interrupt, he knew that Percy could take literal hours to look after every inch of Annabeth, running his fingers lovingly over the stretch of her skin, searching for any possible blemish, any potential hurt or harm. Like,  _ hours _ . He’d seen it himself, semi-hard, semi-fascinated, watching as Percy, deep in subspace, worshipped Annabeth’s ankles, drawing his fingernail up old scars, nuzzling her unshaven legs.

Styx, that boy was whipped.

Eventually he couldn’t take it anymore. He cleared his throat.

Again, as one, they turned to him, identical grins stretching across their faces. Creepy. “You guys done?” he asked, a little more brusquely than he meant it—but hey, he was still horny. The least they could do after giving him such a show was to finish the job.

Annabeth, with no small amount of heft, shoved Percy off of her, and he laughed as he bounced against the mattress. Naked, her choppy hair falling over her ears, she stepped towards him, slinging a long, long leg over his own, settling herself in his lap. “Very good,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around him in an embrace. “Very, very good.”

“Huh?”

“You.” She kissed his cheek, sweetly. “Very, very good.”

“Thank you?”

She kissed him, properly, on the mouth. “You’re welcome,” she hummed, happily, kissing him again. “You are so welcome.” Almost subconsciously, she ground herself down on top of him, her wet pussy just tantalizing out of reach of the base of his cock. He jerked his hips up, trying to get close, and she just laughed. “Uh uh, baby,” she said, a hand skittering down to tweak at his nipple. “Not yet.”

Luke whimpered. He could feel Annabeth’s laugh, deep in his chest, pressed up against him as she was.

“Gods,” Percy groaned from the bed, the slick sound of him jacking himself off almost an intrusion. “You two are so hot.”

"Like what you see, Jackson?" Annabeth asked, not looking up at him, her grey eyes still holding Luke's. He swallowed at the intensity of it. Even seven and starving and shivering, she'd always been able to see right through him.

"Always, Chase," Percy said.

"Well," She said, stroking a hand along Luke's jaw, "if you're not going to call me by my name, maybe I'll keep our boy all to myself."

"Now, Annabeth,” he growled, low and almost threatening, “you know that's not fair.” Out of the corner of Luke’s eyes, he saw Percy get up on his knees, hand still fisting his cock, his gaze striking something almost like fear into Luke’s heart. Almost—because Luke was pretty sure he didn’t want to get on his knees and service Phobos. “I want the rest of my prize. Bring him to me."

She slid off Luke's lap, and cooed a little at the whine that escaped his mouth. At the very least, Annabeth was still shorter than him, but you wouldn't know it from the ease with which she pulled him up after her.

Percy had untied him earlier when he'd given him a glass of water and one of his homemade granola bars, but Luke had known better then to join them on the bed. Until now. Inexorable, she dragged him by the hand, hopping up on the mattress and falling back down onto her back, her whole form open to him. “Come on,” she whined, reaching out for him. “Don’t leave me waiting.”

Her body was no longer new to him—neither was Percy’s, and neither was his own to them—but it still stunned him, every time he saw it. Hard abs, long legs, clever eyes, perfect cunt. Teasing smile, quick fingers, bleeding heart.

Somehow, Percy ended up behind him, and gave him a light push.

Luke toppled onto the bed, nearly squishing her, catching himself on his hands around her neck. For the first time in ages, his fingers didn’t get tangled up in her hair, bracketing her head between his arms. Percy had cleaned up as best he could, but there were still a few long, golden strands, here and there.

She looked… well, she always looked beautiful, but she looked really weird without her hair. The little Annabeth in his memory prized her hair over almost everything else, save her heritage. He loved her hair almost as much as Percy did, and without it, she just looked—different. Very different.

So caught up in the sight of her laid out like this, of taking in every new inch, he nearly jumped out of his skin when Percy clambered up behind him, bracketing his smaller— _ smaller!  _ How _ — _ frame. Percy ran hot, always, a walking, talking, half-human furnace, draping himself over Luke’s back, chasing away the coolness of the empty air. “You get yourself ready like I said, old man?” he asked, grinning into Luke’s neck, nuzzling the short, coarse hair at the base of his skull.

Luke shivered. “Yes,” he whispered, “yeah, yes.”

“Good,  _ Ermidion _ ,” Percy crooned. “Very good.”

That was a thing they did, these little ancient Greek pet names. He remembered, all those years ago, Annabeth hollering “seaweed brain” at the top of her lungs when Percy used to dump her in the lake during canoe races—apparently, the Greeks had a word for that.

Luke wanted to hate the one they gave him. He really, really wanted to hate it. “Little Hermes.” It made his skin crawl, his eyes burn, his throat get all choked up.

All children of the gods emulated their parents, in one way or another. Luke was no exception.

By rights, they all should have hated him. Percy, Annabeth, his father; none of them should have held any affection for him at all.

Annabeth runs her hands up and down his arms, squeezing lightly, her eyes full of a kind of understanding. “Hey,” she murmured, gently pinching the skin of his elbow. “Here and now, okay?”

Percy, suddenly, pulled back. “You okay?” he asked Luke, his voice sounding from very far away. “We can stop, if you want.” He ran his hand down Luke’s side, gently, hypnotic—a pacifying motion.

“No,” he said, leaning into the touch. “No, we can keep going.”

He could almost hear Percy frown. “Are you sure?”

The lump in his throat grew bigger.

Luke did not deserve these kids. These kids—these wonderful, wonderful kids, who deserved so much better than him.

There was a gentle touch to his chin. He opened his eyes, blurry and wet, and saw Annabeth, a soft, sympathetic look gracing her beautiful face, crisscrossed with thin, white lines, scars that had hurt and healed a hundred times over since he’d died. He thumbed one, above her brow, right beneath her hairline, one that was usually hidden by curls falling out of her ponytail, but was now bared for all the world to see. It was an old, old scar, caused by a seven year old tripping over a root, crashing into a rock. He had held her while she whimpered, laying a pilfered bandaid over the thin, tiny wound, kissing his finger then tapping it on her forehead: a fourteen year old’s version of kissing her booboos, like her dad had done for her. Like his mother had done for him, once upon a time.

From her smile, he could tell she was thinking of the same memory.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m sure.”

“Are you sure you’re sure?” asked Percy behind him. “Because really, if you want to stop—”

“Percy,” he almost growled, turning his head. “I’m fine. A little humiliation isn’t going to kill me.”

What could be more humiliating, he wondered, than giving yourself over to a titan lord? Some name-calling? Please.

A beat, and something in his gaze shifted. “You want to try that again?” he asked, any trace of concern vanishing like sea mist in the morning.

Something deep inside of him, the little part of Luke that quailed before the might of an angry god—and he had known several—shriveled up and died. “Sorry. I.” He swallowed. “Sorry.”

Percy squeezed his hip—a silent forgiveness. He hummed. “I don’t like backtalk,” he said, a bald-faced lie. Percy  _ lived  _ for backtalk. Still, Luke found that he couldn’t open his mouth to respond. “Need I remind you, you challenged me, and you  _ lost _ . Really,” he tilted his head, a mocking glint in his eye, “you shouldn’t even be here.”

Luke inhaled, sharply. That one hurt.

His dick throbbed, hanging in the open air.

“So here’s how it’s going to go,” he said, motioning at Annabeth, who reached over to their nightstand, rummaging around in the top drawer, giving Luke a front row view of her butt as she wiggled, of the black tattoo which Percy had taunted him with, stark, dark ink against tan skin. “You’re going to keep your mouth shut, and we’ll pretend that you aren’t,” Percy said, punctuating his sentence with a roll of his hips, his dick hard and ready to go again, the piercing cool against his hot flesh.

Grinning, cheeky, Annabeth flashed him a condom, opening it with her tongue poking between her teeth. “What—” Luke blurted out, the rules of this little game not quite fitting all together. They only ever used condoms when Luke fucked Annabeth. She and Percy were beyond that, trying for a baby. If he wasn’t taking part, “Why—”

Percy swatted him on the ass, lightly. “No talking.”

Taking him in hand, Annabeth rolled the condom down onto him, squeezing gently, smirking up at him. Mouth dry, he tried as best as he could to somehow impart his question telepathically to her, as though he, their roommate and sometimes partner, could somehow hop on the same wavelength as her and her soulmate.

She lifted her brows, mouth falling open in a smile. “Percy,” she murmured, so sweet, “why the condom? We’re trying for a baby, aren’t we?”

“We are, princess,” he cooed, petting Luke’s hair. “But our boy here lost, so we can’t let him come inside of you, now can we.”

The rules of the game hit him like a sack of potatoes. If he had won, things would have been different. If he had won, they would have—they would have let him—

No. No, that was insane. They would never let him. Even if he could take on Percy and win, they wouldn’t… it was just their silly little game. Percy and Annabeth would have a beautiful baby, and Luke only hoped they would still let him come over, and maybe teach the kid… something. Something useful. Pickpocketing, maybe. Or public speaking.

She curled around him, pulling him in with her legs around his waist. “Mm, Percy,” she moaned, eyes twinkling as she looked directly at Luke. “I’m ready, come on, don’t make me wait.”

Luke swallowed, his arms trembling from the force of holding himself up. Annabeth was dripping, the heat of her arousal clear to Luke even through the condom. Her deft hands, brilliant with knife or sword or knitting needles, effortly worked the head of his cock, rubbing it against her inner lips.

“Almost there, princess, I promise,” said Percy. “Just gotta…”

Light, devilish fingers danced their way down to the cleft of his ass, rough calluses from years of handling a sword against his skin. Rubbing and checking, making sure he was really ready, feeling the lub and the stretching Luke had done, until one long finger slipped inside of him, circling, searching. A moan bubbled up in Luke’s throat, and he swallowed it, ruthlessly.

Slowly, one hand on him and one hand in him, Luke was pushed, his cock, already lined up with Annabeth’s pussy, accepting him in. Just the head, just an inch or so, and still the greatest sensation he’d ever known.

She groaned, full throated, her head tossed back. “Yes…” she sighed, her hands curling around his wrists. “So good, Percy… so g—”

Percy thrust him forward, all the way. Inside of her, Luke felt every inch of her as she tensed, squealed, shifted around. He grit his teeth to keep from crying out. It was made worse when Percy added a second finger, spreading then around, a little unnecessarily. When Annabeth fucked him, he required proper preparation. When Percy did, he only got it because Percy hated causing this kind of pain. 

And then, with a breath, Percy lined up his own cock. He slipped inside of Luke, too in one hard thrust. Luke could feel Percy’s hips against his own, could feel his skin rubbing up against Luke’s ass. Percy’s cock was a small, pretty thing, but he wielded it with as much skill as a sword, his whole body moving and maneuvering Luke around it, and into Annabeth. 

“Gods,” he moaned, dipping his head against Luke’s spine. “Annabeth, you always feel so good,  _ gods _ .”

Frowning slightly, but her eyes still dancing, she shifted around Luke, clenching and unclenching, rhythmically, to the marathon sprint of Luke’s heart. “Percy,” she whined, “you’re too big like this.”

“Sorry, princess.” Hands tight on Luke’s hips, he pulled him out almost all the way, letting her readjust, then pushing him in again. “Better?” 

“I guess.” She sighed, dramatically, her chest heaving. “Did you get that extender even though I told you not to?” She clenched experimentally around Luke, a frown on her face. 

“I thought it might be fun,” said Percy, his grin against Luke’s neck. “You don’t like it?”

Licking her lips, Annabeth raised her eyes to Luke’s face, her sharp, clever mind running over every possible combination of words to find the ones that will hurt him the most. “It’s fine,” she said. “But you know I just prefer you.”

His heart stuttered in his chest, his cock doing the same in her pussy. Annabeth winked at him, then winced, not feigned. She did much much prefer Percy’s size, just like everything else about him.

“Careful, Percy,” she moaned, fingers twisting her nipples. Her arms and legs were tan from her afternoon runs and weekend trips to the shore with Percy, but her breasts were ghostly pale, save for the pink tips, hard from her arousal, slightly red from her ministrations. Luke wanted to bend down and suckle at one or the other, but couldn’t move without falling on top of her. She winced again but smiled enjoying every second of the pain. “Just go slow.”

“Yeah,” he whispered into Luke’s ear, ghosting his lips over the cartilage. “Real slow.”

His orders clear, Luke swallowed.

He pulled back. Percy, solid as a rock, didn’t give him much leeway, but ran his hands down Luke’s front, fingers dusting over his happy trail, squeezing his balls. Then he pushed forward, angling up, and Annabeth squealed. “Yes, Percy!” she sighed, over-exaggerated. “Just like that!”

Fine. If that's what she wanted from him.

Caught between a rock and a soft place, he moved between the two bodies, letting his conscious thoughts slip away, until all that was left of him was the soft touch of their hands on his skin. The feeling of himself in Annabeth, contact and security. The feeling of Percy inside of him, full, the way he needed to be, a broken shell of a man, hollowed out and emptied, ready to be filled up again. Over and over, back and forth, until they finally began to move with him, Annabeth’s legs reaching round to include Percy as well. When her moans started to get higher and higher, Percy took Luke’s hand, redirecting it towards Annabeth’s clit.

Gods above and below, she was so wet. He circled the sensitive flesh, like he had watched her do a thousand times, dragging his thumb back and forth, and she writhed around beneath him—her pleasure all real.

“Fuck, fuck, Percy,” she gasped, her hands tangled in the sheets, “fuck, come here, come here baby, let me kiss you.”

“You heard her,” Percy said to the knobs of his spine. Then he grabbed Luke’s hands out from under him, sending him crashing down on top of Annabeth. He couldn’t stop the puff of sound that escaped from his clenched teeth. 

“Sorry, princess,” said Percy, kissing Luke’s shoulder. 

Annabeth just laughed. 

His movement even more restricted now, Percy’s arms wrapped around his own, Annabeth took his head in her hands, her bottom lip between her teeth, and held him there before her. 

“I love you.” She lifted her head up, planting a soft, wet kiss on his mouth. “I love you, Percy.”

Heart stuttering, eyes burning, he swallowed bile, grunting as Percy moved particularly sharply inside of him, Annabeth swallowing the sound. 

“Percy.” Annabeth trailed a hand over Luke’s hair, running her thumb along the ridge of his cheekbone. “I love you.”

Bowing his head, he shut his eyes tight, moving, moving, moving.

He knew, of course he knew, he had always known Percy came first, he saw it every damn day as they shared takeout and clothes and nightmares, dark terrors of Luke Castellan in the form of a primordial evil, of cosmic horrors he couldn’t even begin to imagine—so why did it  _ hurt so fucking bad _ .

She tilted his head up by his chin. He couldn’t help himself, his eyes popping open.

“I love you, Percy,” she murmured, holding Luke’s gaze. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Percy groaned, his head buried in the junction of Luke’s neck. “I love you, too, so much.”

Then she did something… strange.

Beneath Percy’s field of vision, Annabeth raised a hand to her chest, two fingers pointed in a V shape. 

Two. 

_ I love you two _ .

“Percy,” said Annabeth, holding Luke’s gaze, thumbing the corners of his lips, bound by the same rules of the game. “I love you.”

His vision whited out. He came, hard, deep inside the condom.

For a split second, Luke thought he passed out. He must have, because one minute, they had been a tangle of limbs, sweat, and heartbeats, and the next, he was flat on his back, his head on the soft pillows. There were whole seconds he must have lost, between the two of them crowding him, chest to chest to back, and Annabeth sitting beside him, holding his hand, and wiping him down with a damp cloth. They all agree on the dangers of drying come, after all.

“Hey,” said Percy, lightly turning his face over. His sea green eyes were furrowed, concerning shining out like the sun off the surface of the water. “You back with us?”

“I…” His voice was hoarse, croaky, as though he’d been screaming. “Did… did I go somewhere?”

Percy grinned. “You just kind of spaced out for a second. Here.”

From behind his back, he produced another one of his homemade energy bars—chocolate chip and cherry. It took Luke a minute to realize that he had put his fish boxers back on. 

With the two of them helping, they eventually got him up to a sort of a sitting position, enough that he wouldn’t choke on the granola bar. Annabeth was still naked, but she had pushed her hair out of her face with a sweatband, the sweaty, messy curls sticking out every which way as though she had stuck a fork in an electric socket. 

He couldn’t help it. He laughed.

Annabeth scowled. “What’s so funny?”

“You look like…” Luke giggled, weakly, wiggling his fingers as the feeling slowly came back to them. “You look like you got hit with the business end of Maimer.”

Percy barked a laugh, bursting out of him like an arrow.

The boys, they couldn’t keep themselves from laughing, tittering to each other like schoolgirls, as Annabeth’s scowl got deeper and deeper, until Percy accidentally snorted in an effort to keep it down, and Luke lost it.

Of course, that was when his leg chose to cramp up, and he hissed, automatically reaching for it. Still giggling, Percy got there first, taking his knee in his hand, rolling the tense muscle under his fist in an even, soothing motion.

Harrumphing, Annabeth crossed her arms, the corners of her mouth twitching as she fought to hold in her own grin. “Fine. See if I root for you next time.”

Luke groaned. Just the thought of a next time made his whole body ache. “I’ll pass,” he mumbled, jumping a little as Percy worked out a particularly hard knot. 

“We haven’t gone that hard in a really long time, have we, Percy?” she asked, slumping out of her perfect posture. 

He shook his head. “You really brought out the worst in me, Luke,” he said, kissing the skin of his knee. “Sorry.”

“Lucky me,” he grunted, leaning his head back against the wall with a soft  _ thunk _ . Percy’s hands felt so good, the pillows full of the scent of Annabeth’s lemon shampoo, he could drift off to sleep right here.

“Still,” he said, spreading his hands out over the taut muscles, “you were such a good sport, how about this—I’ll let you decide if you want to be Daddy or Papa.”

“Papa,” said Luke automatically, his eyes closed.

Wait.

He lifted his head, suddenly much more awake. Percy and Annabeth grinned at him, identical smiles, but now full of love and affection where once was predatory glee. 

Eyes flicking towards Annabeth, he automatically looked towards her midsection—it looked the same, abs for days, but maybe—?

“Are you—?” he asked, barely daring to breathe.

She smiled, a kind of glow radiating out of her. “I’ve definitely missed my period,” she said. “Wanna go and get a test for me tomorrow?”

More than anything in the world, yes. He nodded, heart too full to speak.

“And whatever it says,” said Percy, propping Luke’s knee up on top of a pillow, “you get first crack at the nicknames. Deal?”

“I—” This was… this was all so much. He blinked, their shapes blurring before him, and he quashed down the sob that threatened to break free from his throat. “You guys would… you would let—let me—”

Crawling over to him, Annabeth stretched out her body beside him, laying her head on his shoulder. “You’re a part of this family, aren’t you?” 

Family. He’d heard the word so many times, it had practically lost all meaning for him. He’d fought and rebelled and died against the notion of it. But now, tucked up against Annabeth, Percy gently laying the softer couch quilt over the two of them before shimmying in beside them, his nose pressed into Luke’s neck and his hand reaching over to grasp at Annabeth’s, to consider the three of them becoming four, or maybe five, or six… 

“Love you, Luke,” he mumbled into the skin, already half-asleep. “Love you, Annabeth.”

Well, it didn’t sound so bad after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🙊😁✌

**Author's Note:**

> Flames will b used to roast marshmallows 😜


End file.
